


Point of Impact

by White_Noise



Series: The Other Life of Quentin Holmes, Quartermaster [12]
Category: James Bond (Craig movies), Sherlock (TV), Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Genre: M/M, Q is a Holmes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-25
Updated: 2013-01-25
Packaged: 2017-11-26 20:31:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,480
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/654133
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/White_Noise/pseuds/White_Noise
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Q never believed in the movies where people came together to protect an injured friend. With a surname like Holmes and a job in MI6, no one ever expected him to. That was, until it happened to him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Point of Impact

**Author's Note:**

> So this story came from an anon prompt at the 007 kink meme. Sadly, I couldn't follow the prompt completely, seeing as I have already covered half the prompt in other stories but the bit that stood out to me was the idea of how Sherlock and Mycroft would react to Q being targetted by one of their enemies. So to the anon who wrote the prompt, I hope you enjoy.
> 
> Also to my beta Cathryn. Just like always.

To think, a simple tradition could leave you on death’s door. Really, Q shouldn't have been surprised. When you were the Quartermaster of MI6 and the brother of both the British Government and the World’s only Consulting Detective, you tended to realise just how dangerous the world could be. Still, it was odd to think of something as simple as a lunch break could be deadly.

But really, Q should have expected it.

It had been a long standing tradition. Himself, Moneypenny and Tanner, each one putting aside an hour a week to meet up and have lunch together somewhere in London, away from their lives as MI6 agents. An hour a week where they were no longer Q, Moneypenny and Tanner, just be Quentin, Eve and Bill. Three work friends off to lunch like normal, everyday people.

None of them expected the sniper, as they strolled around the outskirts of St James Park, heading through the afternoon crowds as their made their way down toward Westminster.

Eve had been dressed in her normal attire, a business skirt and shirt, her heels in her hands and her feet bare. Bill had also dressed down, his suit jacket left in the office when he came out. Q himself was in the burnt orange fitted jumper he had worn during the hunt for Silva. It was a comfortable piece of clothing and he wasn't willing to give it up for bad memories. A pity he would now have to give it up because of the blood stains.

The shot came from above, but that didn't stop it from hitting its target.

A crack of a gun and the feeling like being punched in the stomach. Q dropped to his knees, the wind knocked from him and leaving him gasping.

From somewhere in the crowd of people, a woman screamed.

Q didn't really know what happened next. One minute he was on his knees, gasping for breath, the next he was on his back, Eve’s weight on top of him as she tried to cover his body with her own, and her hands on top of his which were now pressed to his stomach. Blood was trickling from beneath their join hands. Q’s blood.

Bill was kneeling by his fallen friends, his eyes searching for the shooter and his phone pressed to his ear as he called in support.

Q looked around. His glasses had fallen off, leaving the world fuzzy but he could still make out enough. Eve was looking at him, that much he could see. She was saying something but it seemed far off, like she was speaking from a distance and Q couldn't make out what she was saying to him. His head lolled to the side, the young genius unable to focus as around him, people gathered.

They must make quite a scene, Q thought. Yes, not many people got to see someone die these days. No doubt this would stick in the memories of those people unfortunate enough to witness his murder.

Q blinked. God, he was thinking like his brother. Sherlock always liked to look at things objectively. His brother....

This would destroy both of them. Mycroft always saw himself as the protector of his siblings and Sherlock...god, this would be it for his sanity. After faking his own death just to protect his friends, losing his brother would be the final straw. Whoever had decided to take the shot, whether it be an enemy of MI6 or the Holmes family, should certainly watch their backs.

And if he didn't get them, James certainly would. The Double O would rip apart the world for this. It didn't matter if Q survived this or not, James would go ballistic.

Somewhere far off, a siren sounded. Eve was shaking him now but Q was finding it increasingly difficult to focus. Black spots were appearing in his vision now.

It took far too much effort but Q managed to focus on Eve’s face.

"I apologise, Miss Moneypenny." he muttered, his voice sounding wrong in his ears. "I don't think I will be able to continue with lunch today."

Eve was still staring at him but now he could see the horror on her face as she realised this was Q’s goodbye. She reached for his face, holding his chin in her hand.

"No." she replied. "Keep your eyes on me, Quartermaster."

Q wanted to obey, he really did. But stomach wounds were not good for those sorts of things. His vision started to fade. Pulling one had out from under Eve’s; he reached over, grabbing one of her hands. He gave it a soft squeeze and closed her eyes.

\-------

The apartment of 221B Baker Street was dark, the lights off and curtains closed. It was exactly how its single current occupant liked it.

Sherlock Holmes, the World’s only Consulting Detective was sitting in the dark, his feet up on the edge of the bench and his violin in his hands. Absentmindedly, he plucked at a string. There was a soft, scratching sound.

Sherlock looked around.

The creature was there, watching him. It’s brown eyes giving no clue as to its secrets. It licked it’s lips at him before sitting down, tilting it's head. Sherlock sneered at it.

He had told John repeatedly that he needed to get rid of the creature but the Doctor was being annoyingly stubborn about it. And, considering how difficult it had been to lure John back to Baker Street after his return, Sherlock wasn't really willing to push his luck. Still, he had made it clear that he would have no part in looking after the creature and that if it messed with any of his experiments, all hell would break loose.

John had grumbled at that, leaving them at an impasse. Sherlock would not touch the creature but in return, he could not touch the creature. Which was annoying considering it was the only why Sherlock could think of making the creature useful would be to incorporate it into his experiments.

Looking away from the creature, Sherlock glanced over at his apparatus. The kitchen table was covered in equipment, the remains of his latest experiment.

Absentmindedly, the detective thought about cleaning it up. John was still in a mood with him and despite himself, Sherlock had taken steps to try and curb his habits in the hope at he wouldn't upset the doctor further.

He slumped back in his chair. No point in changing his habits. John would understand.

Reaching for the bow, Sherlock ran it across the strings, letting the noise drown out the outside world. He was flat on the G. Reaching for the correct peg, he quickly tightened it. He raised the bow again.

There was a 'ping'.

Sherlock looked down at his phone, resting on the armrest where he had left it. The screen had lit up, showing that a message had been received.

Putting the instrument down, Sherlock picked up his phone.

_'You are needed ~ MH'_

Sherlock rolled his eyes. Ever since returning from the dead, Mycroft had seemed to think Sherlock needed to be more involved. He had insisted in dropping all sorts of cases on his brother, almost as if he feared Sherlock would go and die again without the stimulation.

_'No ~ SH'_ he sent back.

He dropped the phone back on the armrest and picked up the violin again.

The phone chimed. Sherlock ignored it, immediately diving into Vivaldi's Four Seasons.

The phone beeped again and again. Four times all up as Sherlock played. Mycroft must be in a fluster by now.

As he drew the bow across the strings for a final time, he looked down at the phone. 5 messages awaited him. Lowering the violin, Sherlock reached for the phone. Mycroft would never insist unless it was important.

He opened the messages, one at a time.

_'For god’s sake! Don't be childish._ ~ MH'  
 _'There has been an incident. ~ MH'_  
 _'Quentin has been compromised. ~ MH'_  
 _'Royal London Hospital. ~ MH'_  
 _'Come at once. ~ MH'_

Sherlock felt himself freeze as he read the messages. Slowly, he rose from his chair, still staring at the phone. The door opened, John stepping through with several bags in his hand. He turned his back to Sherlock, using his shoulder to push the door closed.

"Yes, yes. Don't come and help." he snapped as the door clicked. The creature padded over to its master, it's whole body shaking at seeing John.

"Hello Gladstone." John greeted the creature before turning and stepping over it, heading into the kitchen.

"And when are you going to clean your experiments off the table?" he called from the other room.

Sherlock ignored him, still gripping the phone in his hands.

"I mean, it's a table. We eat there. Or, I eat there in any case. Would it kill you to just once...." the voice trailed off. There was a pause.

"Sherlock?" the voice finally asked.

The detective tore his gaze away from the phone to look at John, who was standing at the door to the kitchen, looking at him.

"Are you all right?" the doctor asked, eyeing his friend.

"Royal London Hospital." Sherlock muttered.

"What?" John asked but Sherlock was already turning to the door.

"Royal London Hospital. I need to go there now!" the detective explained as he rushed to the door, pulling it open.

"What? But? Sherlock?" John gasped but Sherlock was already running down the stairs, shouting for Mrs Hudson.

\-------

Detective Inspector Greg Lestrade sighed and rubbed a hand across his face as he looked down at the paperwork across his desk. It had been a long day already and it didn't seem like it would be ending anytime soon.

Some poor bastard had been shot near Whitechapel, right in the middle of the lunch time rush. The event had caused a mass panic and Scotland Yard had found itself flooded with calls from concerned citizens and the media.

Lestrade had been on the scene for a little while, watching as the victim was taken to hospital and the witnesses interviewed.

God, the victim. He had been little more than a kid, some tech geek with wild dark hair and glasses. Not the sort of person who you would assume would be the target of a shooting. His two colleges, who had stayed with him until he was loaded into the ambulance hadn't looked dangerous either. Just two normal office workers. But when Lestrade had ordered their statement, the two had disappeared suddenly, like they had never existed. The victim too, hadn't had any I.D on him. The paramedics had been forced to label him a John Doe until he woke up or someone stepped forward to claim him.

The shooters I.D was proving to be just as difficult. None of the witnesses had seen anyone suspicious and even now, the search through the CCTV wasn't giving any good leads.

It was looking to be a long night.

"Sir?"

Lestrade looked up. Sergeant Donovan was standing at the door of his office, a phone in her hand.

"Call came in from the Royal London. Apparently the Freak is there and making a scene. He kept shouting your name. The administration wants you to come and deal with him."

Lestrade groaned. He had long since become aware of Sherlock’s antics. God knows, the man had enough quirks. But did he really have to do this now? And in a hospital of all places.

"Is John Watson with him?" he asked.

Usually, the doctor was good at stopping Sherlock from causing too much damage.

Sally shrugged.

"When isn't he with him?" she asked.

Lestrade sighed and rose from his chair.

"The John Doe is there. Might as well make it a round trip. Grab your coat Sergeant."

\--------

The hospital was cool as the two detectives stepped through the door, looking around them. There was no screaming sociopath or military doctor in sight. No disturbances at all. Slowly, they made their way to the reception desk.

"Excuse me?" Lestrade called, catching the nurse on duty’s attention. He held up his badge. "Detective Inspector Lestrade of Scotland Yard. I wanted to ask a few questions about the John Doe who was brought in here this afternoon."

The nurse looked down at her files for a moment.

"Of course, Sir. I will just see who I can find to help you." she said.

"That won't be necessary." a voice said from the front door.

Lestrade turned, searching for the voice. Several people stood at the entrance, almost blocking the door from sight. Most of them were dressed head to toe in what looked like a military uniform. But the two men at the front of the crowd were different. Both were dressed in dark suits and looking directly at the detectives.

"Spread out. Secure the building." the older man of the two said, his eyes on Lestrade. He stepped forward. The second man, with blond hair and blue eyes and who may have been slightly younger (it was difficult to tell) stayed at his right hand, only a step behind him at any time.

"Detective Inspector, I want to commend you for your sense of duty. Unfortunately, you won't be needed here today." The closer of the two continued.

"And who the bloody hell are you to decide that?" Lestrade asked. Behind the two men, several of their military guards had cornered off the entrance. This didn't look good.

"His name is Gareth Mallory." a voice called from behind the detectives.

If it was at all possible, Lestrade might have given himself whiplash as he turned to face this third party. It was another man, also dressed in a suit. Unlike the other two men, his suit was gray. Lestrade knew this man. He had seen him briefly at the Christmas Party at Baker Street. Mycroft Holmes. Sherlock’s brother.

"And he is the head of MI6." Mycroft continued, looking straight at the afore mentioned man.

Like when watching a tennis match, Lestrade found himself turning once again, this time to face Gareth Mallory. Only then did the detective realise that the man’s accomplice was gone, disappearing down a corridor.

"Mycroft, old chap. How are you?" Mallory asked. Lestrade could hear the annoyance in the man’s voice.

Mycroft looked at Mallory.

"Given the situation, I feel that question is in poor taste." Mycroft replied. He looked over at the door.

"Oh, for goodness sake." he added. "Is that really necessary? I hardly think the shooter is going to return at this late stage."

"Shooter?" Lestrade butted in, looking at both men. "You mean the John Doe?"

"Oh for heaven’s sake." Mycroft muttered as Mallory turned to look at Lestrade.

"Indeed. The 'John Doe' you are referring to is in fact one of MI6’s top intelligence operatives." The older man replied.

"Intelligence operatives?" Lestrade asked. "But he's a kid!"

"He is also a member of the Holmes family, Detective Inspector." Mycroft responded. "Do not doubt his abilities for a second."

"Holmes? So that makes him your..." Lestrade trailed off, not sure how to finish that sentence.

"My and Sherlock’s younger brother, yes." Mycroft finished.

"Oh god. Another freak." Sally muttered from behind Lestrade as her boss’ shoulders dropped.

"Jesus. No wonder I got reports of Sherlock making a scene in here." he looked over at Mycroft. "Where is he?"

"I believe Sherlock is currently in the waiting room with Doctor Watson, awaiting news about the surgery." he looked over at Mallory again. "No doubt your Double O has already joined them there."

Mallory nodded, but didn't say anything. Lestrade sighed.

"I had better go and have a word with him." he said, turning to Mycroft. "Which way is the waiting room?"

Mallory stepped forward.

"I already told you Inspector, your services are no longer needed." he called.

Lestrade turned and shot the man a look.

"Oh, I'm not talking about your agent. Sherlock, the bloody git, has gotten a complaint made against him by the hospital staff. If I don't do anything about it, he will keep going. Would you mind showing me the way?" This last question was directed at the older Holmes.

Mycroft nodded, a hint of amusement in his eyes for the first time since the conversation had started.

"Of course, Inspector. Anything I can do to help."

\-------

The Waiting Room was a bright, cheery room, no doubt designed to try and calm its occupants. Certainly, it hadn't worked on Sherlock.

The detective was pacing the room, muttering angrily to himself. No one dared approach him, not even John. He had never seen Sherlock in such a state as he had been when he had first approached a nurse, demanding to see his brother.

The nurse in question had been foolish enough to ask for Identification and had been on the receiving end of a brutal dressing down, along with another nurse, a doctor and several security staff who had stepped in to try and remove Sherlock.

John had stepped in; trying to calm the situation but it had been to little effect. Sherlock had demanded that Lestrade be called, had demanded access to his brother and had just about gotten himself banned from the hospital before Mycroft had arrived and stepped in, forcing Sherlock to calm down with the threat of restraints.

John had almost been grateful to the older man as Sherlock had finally huffed and disappeared into the waiting room.

Then, there was nothing left to do but wait. Another doctor, not the same as the first who John suspected, was most likely cowering in the tea room, had come in to talk to them. Mycroft had managed to produce the proper identification to have the John Doe readmitted as Quentin Holmes and the doctor had explained all he knew. Quentin was in surgery and they didn't know for how long or if he would pull through. They had been in contact with the police but no one was sure yet as to what had actually happened.

Then, with the promise of an update soon, the doctor had retreated. Mycroft hadn't spoken and had soon followed the doctor, disappearing down a corridor and leaving John to enter the Waiting Room.

Sherlock had been pacing inside and snapping at anyone who dared to approach him. John knew these sorts of moods and had decided not to engage him, instead sitting himself on one of the uncomfortable plastic chairs and mentally preparing himself to wait.

After about half an hour, another figure had entered the room.

John had already guessed that he would be here, but that hadn't stopped the sudden tension in the room as James Bond entered. Sherlock had stopped his pacing; glaring at the other man with such ferocity that John was honestly surprised that fire hadn't shot from his eyes.

Bond had ignored the look, instead nodding in John’s direction.

"What news?" he asked.

"He's still in surgery. They don't know how much longer it will take but according to the surgeon, the bullet shattered on impact, causing a lot of internal damage. No word on his chances at this stage."

Bond had nodded at this before turning, his back now facing the other two men as he lent against the door, his arms crossed over his chest. And there he remained, as still as a statue.

After a little while, Sherlock returned to pacing, occasionally throwing heated glances at the agent. John went back to staring at the wall.

Occasionally, other people would appear in the hours that they waited.

Lestrade turned up shortly after Bond, looking at the three men. He asked briefly about Quentin, although John couldn't help but notice he never called him by his name. He even managed to coax Sherlock into speaking with him briefly, telling the consulting detective about the witness statements and quietly informing them that there were currently no leads on the identity of the shooter. Then he disappeared, retreating to Scotland Yard to try and continue with the case in the promise that he would contact Sherlock, should anything come up. Sergeant Donovan, who had been at Lestrade’s side, had been silent through the whole conversation but as her boss turned to leave, had hesitantly offered her support to Sherlock. Sherlock had, of course, fobbed it off.

Mycroft would also occasionally enter the room, sometimes to relay a bit of the doctors comments, sometimes to try and talk Sherlock into sitting down.

Another man, also dressed in a suit had entered. Instead of talking to Sherlock or John, he had turned to Bond, whispering words to the agent before leaving again.

Occasionally, men dressed in black would pause at the entrance to the Waiting Room before turning and disappearing again.

At around the three hour mark, Mrs Hudson had appeared, carrying flowers and a container of sandwiches which she passed to John before grabbing Sherlock and giving him a hug. Sherlock had accepted the comfort as best he could before the old woman had released him and taken the seat next to John, ready to wait with her boys for any news.

About an hour after that, another woman had entered the room. Instead of going to Sherlock, she had headed to Bond, offering him a small smile. He had greeted her with a small nod.

"Eve." he had muttered.

"How is he?" The woman, Eve, had asked.

Bond shrugged.

"Any news on the shooter?" he asked.

Eve shook her head.

"Tanner is in Q Branch at the moment. They are going over the CCTV footage, looking for anyone suspicious. They promised to let me know the minute they find anything."

Bond had nodded and turned back to look at the door. Eve reached forward, brushing her hand along the sleeve of his suit jacket.

"This isn't your fault." she muttered but Bond ignored her.

Signing, Eve turned and took the seat next to Mrs Hudson, politely declining the offer of a sandwich.

Mycroft appeared again, this time taking a seat. The room fell silent, no one moving except Sherlock who continued to pace.

After what felt like another hour, a surgeon entered the room. He smiled.

"Good news. Mr Holmes pulled through and the surgery was a success."

John felt his shoulders drop in relief as in front of him, Sherlock stopped pacing.

"We have placed him in a medically induced coma and he is currently being moved to the IC but there is no reason for you all to worry. He has been remarkable strong through this whole thing. His chances are good."

The groan of metal and plastic indicated that Mycroft had risen from his seat. Reaching forward, he caught Sherlock by the shoulder as the detective moved to corner the poor surgeon.

"That is good news." Mrs Hudson said aloud. Beside her, Eve jumped. The young woman reached into her pocket and pulled out her phone, which was vibrating silently. She answered it.

"Hello?" she said. She listened intently before looking at Bond.

Bond, who had gone to stand with Sherlock to hear what the surgeon had to say, turned, looking at the woman. With a few quick steps, he was at her side, hand held open for the phone which Eve gave him.

"Tanner?" he said, raising it to his ear. He listened intently, expression hardening with every word from the man on the other end of the line.

"They just finished surgery. He should be awake soon."

Another pause.

"Have you told M?"

Another pause.

"No. I want to deal with this personally."

Bond hung up the phone, handing it back to Eve.

"Tanner thinks they have found him." he said, ignoring how the rest of the room fell silent to listen to him, the surgeon leaving the room quickly.

"Sebastian Moran, a former military sniper, was seen going into the European Parliament Office approximately thirty minutes before Q was shot and was seen leaving ten minutes after. Q Branch has calculated that the shot most likely came from there. And we also have a motive. Moran is a known supporter of the now deceased James Moriarty."

Bond turned, well aware of the watching eyes. His own fell on Sherlock.

"It seems your past is catching up with you Mr Holmes." he all but growled at the detective.

John only just managed to grab Sherlock’s arm before the detective lunged at Bond.

"You think I am to blame for this?" Sherlock all but hissed. "After all I did to stop Moriarty, to keep him away from my family and friends?"

Eve was on her feet now, a hand on Bonds chest as if this would stop him from killing the detective before him. Everyone in the room could see that Bond was close to losing control. But Sherlock’s survival instincts had never been the greatest.

"You, the famous Double O, with your license to kill and a girl in every city. How much danger have you put my brother in over the years? How much has he had to suffer because of you and your little dalliances? How dare you blame this on me?"

Bond was reaching for his gun now as John wrapped his arms around Sherlock’s chest, trying to drag the man back.

Mycroft stepped forward.

"Enough!" he shouted.

There was silence, followed by a click of the door opening and one of the MI6 agents peeking through.

Bonds hand dropped, his blue eyes still fixed on Sherlock’s.

"I love your brother. Do not ever question that or family or not, I will put a bullet in your skull." Bond hissed before stepping back. He broke off the gaze, nodding to the man at the door.

"It's alright." he called as Eve finally released his arm. The man nodded and left the room.

Turning, he took up his post at the door once more.

Sensing that it was now safe to do so, John released Sherlock, feeling the other man sink down. Carefully, he guided his friend to a chair. Sherlock looked exhausted.

"I did everything right." he was muttering to himself. "I made him keep his distance. I let it out that I didn't care about him, that his existence meant nothing to me. Why would they bother to target him? What purpose could it have served them?"

John shook his head but didn't respond. It wasn't his place.

"I am going to burn the heart out of you. That's what Jim said to me. But why Quentin? Why target the only one not involved?"

John fought back the sigh and left Sherlock to maul the thoughts over in his head. He had no doubt the detective would figure out some answer.

\-------

It took Q six more hours to wake up from the surgery. Six hours of Sherlock staking out his room and bullying hospital staff. Six hours of John watching his friend and jumping into action when it looked like someone was about to break down under Sherlock rants. Six hours of Bond haunting the room, waiting for the youngest Holmes to open his eyes.

Eve, who John had learnt was another MI6 agent, had left at around three hours, her replacement a man who had introduced himself as Bill.

Mycroft too had disappeared, although John had seen him around the hospital the few times the doctor had decided to take a walk.

Mrs Hudson was also gone, back to Baker Street although she had promised to return soon, after she fed Gladstone and made something to feed her boys.

Lestrade had turned up again, this time to tell them that he was no longer on the case, orders from above blocking him from investigating the attack. Sherlock had shot Bond a look at this, which the spy had pointedly ignored.

Bonds boss had also appeared. John hadn't meant to overhear the conversation between Bond and this M but overhear he did, listening as M confirmed that Moran was their shooter and how several agents had now been dispatched to find him. Bond hadn't reacted to the news.

And then, in between these periods of excitement, there was boredom. The hospital was quiet. The doctors were quiet, the visitors were quiet, even the patients were quiet. Everyone was waiting.

John had amused himself by reading over Quentin's chart, looking at the medications the hospital had given him and pointedly ignoring the whispered argument between Sherlock and Mycroft. The older Holmes had reappeared in Quentin's room, wanting to check in on both his brothers.

Sherlock, who was starting to get jumpy without anything to do, was now lobbying to have Quentin moved to Bart's so the detective could keep an eye on his brother and still conduct his experiments in the morgue.

Mycroft was very quick to deny Sherlock this, claiming that their brother was safest where he was now and also questioning how Sherlock could even think of going and playing in a morgue, considering how easily their brother could have been sent to one.

And then, just after they had passed the sixth hour since they had been allowed into Quentin's room, the youngest Holmes woke up.

It started slow, a twitch of his hand, a slight movement of his head, and a change in his breathing.

Quentin's eyes opened slowly, looking up with confusion as he tried to make sense of everything around him. He blinked.

Sherlock was on him first, reaching for his younger brother like he was afraid Quentin would disappear the moment he looked away. It certainly didn't surprise John that the first thing the youngest Holmes said after waking up, and finding his brother looming over him was "Go away, Sherlock!"

Sherlock had fallen back from the bed, once more becoming the high functioning sociopath everyone knew him to be. This left room for Bond to take his place, slipping past everyone and catching Quentin's attention. He started talking softly, his voice so low that John couldn't hear what he was saying. Quentin seemed to respond, allowing Bond to hold his hand as he replied just as softly. After a few minutes, Bond stepped away, smiling softly. The agent reached into his pocket, pulling out his phone and turning away.

John sighed as Mycroft took his turn to talk to his brother.

John couldn't help it, he shook his head. He knew it would be a long and painful recovery for Quentin. Weeks, if not months, for the physical injuries to heal at least. But despite everything, it looked like the Holmes family had survived.

\--------

It was two weeks before Q was allowed to leave the hospital. Two weeks of sitting around, being the object of affection for the nurses and the object of teasing from everyone else. To make matters worse, for the first four days, he had been without his glasses or his laptop, both items of which took serious blackmailing to gain.

It probably hadn't helped that the first time he had asked, in one of the quiet moments when Sherlock was back in Baker Street and Mycroft was back in his office, that James had nodded in agreement and disappeared, supposedly to go and get the items.

He returned three days later with a bruise across his cheek, a self-satisfied grin and neither laptop nor glasses in sight. Thankfully Eve had the foresight to go and retrieve the items before Bond found out just what Q could do while still in his pyjamas.

It was only after leaving the hospital later that Q discovered that Bonds disappearance had conveniently coincided with both the sudden three day holiday of Sherlock Holmes and the arrest of Sebastian Moran. Q’s attempted murderer looking a little worse for wear and both Sherlock and James having found a strange new respect for one another.

And soon, it was two weeks later and Q was being discharged from the hospital. The discharge papers were a little odd, with none of the doctors quite certain who had signed them off but it was the best Q could do with the impressive mix of pain medication still in his system. Bond had just laughed and shaken his head.

So Q was released back into the hands of MI6, with heavy bandaging around his stomach, some impressive battle scars and some brand new respect from the junior agents, most of who couldn't seem to believe that Q had survived the attack. Or that he was strong enough to take back control of Q Branch so soon.

Life settled down again.

Moran disappeared, placed in a jail somewhere where he could never get out.  
   
Life at Baker Street and MI6 returned to their respective chaotic normality, just as everyone hoped for.

If this shooting had taught any of them anything, it was the fact that amid the chaos, there were always people who cared, despite their denials.


End file.
